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"Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn,
" Quoth the .Raven, Nevermore.'"
THE POETICAL WORKS
EDGAR ALLAN POE.
ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered,
weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten
lore; While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came
a tapping, As of some one gently rapping — rapping at my
chamber door. “ 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, “ tapping at my. chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak
December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost
upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought
to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow-sorrow for the
lost Lenore-For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple
curtain Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic terrors never
felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood
repeating, “ 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber
doorSome late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is, and nothing more.”